by Forrest Whitman
Ramblin’ Jack Talks Booze Trains
It’s time to head down to the Vic in Salida and drink rye whiskey in honor of Ramblin’ Jack Snyder. When he passed away two years ago, we lost a repository of Colorado rail history. The story is that he drove his aging Cadillac to a Denver hospital and died before he could check in. He was in his upper nineties. Each time Jack took me riding in his vintage Cadillac convertible he’d tell train tales. We’d stop at some railroad yard, and he’d point out where whiskey was stored and loaded at night. Sometimes we’d even find old barrel staves and broken bottles.
As a kid during prohibition, Jack “ran bottles” for bootleggers. He made friends in the whole state and knew the booze industry inside and out. Jack never married, and he always said he had girlfriends to cook him breakfast everywhere from Antonito to Fort Collins. He truly did ramble everywhere.
Colorado historians, like Tom Noel, Betty Alt, Sandra Wells and others, write that the whiskey industry was run by mafia types. Their tales of gun battles (both intramural and extramural) are real enough. Stories of the Italian families in Denver (especially the Smaldones), and the Italians of Pueblo (especially the Spinutzis), are booze gospel. Jack agreed that they owned the business, but he thought the lower- end workers really ran things and were not Mafia at all. He’d met the top guys like Flip Flop (Clyde Smaldone), Checkers (Eugene Smaldone), The Ram (Joe Salardino), and even Chauncey (Clarence Smaldone). But, they had little to do with the men Jack knew, the men who made the booze and transported it.
When it comes to transportation, Jack was quite sure the historians missed the boat, or the train. The Denver and Rio Grande Western railroad (he called it the Dangerous and Rapidly Growing Worse) was the main way whiskey made its way to market. Everyone was in on the action. The night train from Pueblo (which had turned at Salida Wye in the afternoon) was sometimes called “the cocktail special.” The “hog and human,” a mixed night train from the western slope to Denver, was widely known to carry more than milk in those cans. Even though the “hog” stopped often to pick up animal cars, its many stops made slipping aboard some whiskey easier. Employees from the switchmen to the train master got the occasional bottle, but they mostly just looked the other way anyway.
I was privileged to ride in Jack’s white Caddie and hear his stories. Above all, Jack believed in our railroads. He was sure the old main line of the D.& R.G.W. would one day come back. It’s mostly only weeds from Pueblo to Minturn now, but Jack is probably doing what he can in heaven.
Short Set Offs
The new Denver Union Station is really looking good. It’s worth watching it grow from atop the millennium bridge. AMTRAK will be back in next year, and the new station hotel will open soon after. For now though, you can’t catch the bus to Salida and on south at the station. That too will come.
I just caught the Southwest Chief in Trinidad, and went over Raton Pass to Lamy, New Mexico with the publisher of this magazine. A great trip! As everybody should know by now, that’s a seriously threatened train. Now is the time to call our senators, representatives and especially Gov. Hickenlooper, about the Chief. An email to CDOT would be in order too. Several cities and counties in Colorado have passed resolutions in favor of the Chief. Let’s get more on board. www.colorail.org is the site for more info.
Forrest puts on his retired minister hat and officiates weddings on any train any time, though Ramblin’ Jack refused to attend any wedding ever (rye whiskey at receptions exempted).
